Angel at My Side
by moron high school host club
Summary: From the diary of Madame Christine De Chagny. (Hints of E/C, slight Raoul bashing)


If you asked me to recall the events of the hectic night at the Paris Opera House near thirty years ago, I'd tell you I did not remember in my old age and that I'd surely report to you if I did. This was not entirely untrue- for the most part, my weathered brain found the memories of my youth to be a blur. I remembered my marriage to my handsome (and quite persistent) suitor, the Vicomte de Chagny. Raoul and I spent a long twelve, happy years together until he died of pneumonia after weeks of the illness. The time we spent together may have brought me a lifetime of happiness-but somehow, no matter how expensive the diamonds and pearls Raoul would bring home after his long trips across the seas, no matter how many bouquets of red roses clipped of their thorns and put into vases atop the grand piano- they would never quite bring me the joy of the single red rose placed on my vanity.

Yes, I did recall what transpired at the Opera. I kept to myself, knowing that my angel would have wished our time together to be kept between as few as the two of us. My angel was not the only person with the desire. Those lessons in my dressing room, so intimate, a soprano, her tutor_-_ yes, I think some things are better left between those who knew. No petty reporter could understand- it takes a true musician, someone who surrounded themselves with their art, let it consume them in a passionate embrace. I suppose the truest musicians could not compete with Erik in that. His life was dedicated to music and that alone- I did not know if he thought of other things. I suppose that, if he found his enjoyment in artistic mediums like painting-perhaps then he would not be the Angel of Music I came to know. In that case I suppose he would not be an angel- no, simply a man. Simply… Erik.

There are days in which I miss him. I often wonder what a lesson with the tutor who began it all would be like- just once more. I would not have Raoul to reprimand me for it- no, my dear husband is long gone, and he cannot be hurt by my yearning for the music I'd once shared. Dearest Raoul, if you watch over me now, I can tell you with peace; the life we lived together was one that any young woman would be glad to share with you. I did quite love you, and at first I was sure that I had made the right decision. You saw through the deceit before I did, Raoul, and I am terribly sorry for allowing my denial to extend for so long- I wish I had the humanity to cease hurting you for so long. You will always be the boy who rescued my red scarf from the sea, and I will always remember your bright smile as you returned it to me.

I miss them both, dearly. I find tears splatter onto the pages of the novel I read- I can never seem to get interested. My mind wanders as I get further into the paragraph- I recall the times of my youth, the cloudy patches of those years becoming clear, if only for a brief moment. Yes, I recall a memory quite fondly.

I sat at my vanity, awaiting my angel to appear. The voice arrived at approximately 8 in the evening, after rehearsal. He had instructed me to do my warm-ups in advance so that we could get to work as quickly as possible. I began my scales, the melody floating in the air. I sang loud, as if to summon the angel to my room. I could not stop the grin from spreading when I heard the smooth tenor, regardless of the condescending tone he possessed.

"It doesn't quite matter how loud you sing, dear child, rather than the passion within your voice," he says, and he chuckles lowly.

"It summoned you faster, did it not?" I am grinning now, giddy like a child on Christmas Eve.

This was not like any other lesson, oh no. I was in such a joyful disposition as he had promised to sing for me.

"Will you still sing, angel?" I asked.

He was silent for a few seconds and apprehension flooded the air. I never knew if I had crossed the boundaries he had set- sometimes a comment referring to family or a question about heaven would send him to a rage. This was not one of these instances. He spoke once more as if the question had not fazed him.

"I will sing when the lesson is complete, but only if you show me that our days together have not gone to waste," he proposes, and I do not disappoint.

When he sings the first note, I am bound to the floor, breathless. His voice brought me a joy that nothing else in the world could, a flood of joy throughout my veins. It left me unable to breathe, left my breath stuck in my lungs. I felt not a care in the world, nothing mattered but the lovely, angelic voice reverberating off the walls of my dressing room. I felt whole for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. If this angel was here to take me from this earth, I would gladly follow him.

It was a siren's song, it seemed. A siren's song so strong that, even after thirty-one years, I was still drawn to it. I'd do anything my angel requested.

My time on Earth is limited now. For I am ill and my days as an old, withering widow are soon done. I suspect that my angel (whom my mind refuses to accept is truly a man) is longer gone than even Raoul. Yes, he was quite old when I knew him, and the Persian whom assisted Raoul to Erik's home had said that he had died of a broken heart. I remember that night, for I'd sobbed in my room for hours. It was then that I realized that I truly loved my angel, and I believe it was then that Raoul noticed it, too. It will not be long before I join either of them in the afterlife. I do not know who it will be, but I am sure that it will not be both. Erik has done what god has forbidden-many deeds that he says not to commit. Should I go to God's Kingdom with Raoul, or be damned for loving a murderer- I shall not know until I arrive at either. I suppose, if I am damned to hell, it will not be so terrible, so long as my angel is by my side.


End file.
